


What Once was His

by HIMluv



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Goodbyes, Trespasser DLC, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HIMluv/pseuds/HIMluv
Summary: Solas has lured Lavellan through the Crossroads, foiling the Qunari plot. That was the easy part. The hard part is telling his vhenan the truth, and goodbye.My attempt at the Trespasser DLC from Solas' POV.





	What Once was His

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ntbogoni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntbogoni/gifts).



> A/N: I'm gifting this little fic to ntbogoni, because she recently entered Solavellan hell, and somehow managed to drag me back down with her. Plus, our Lavellans are totally twins ;)

The sparse grass crunched under her feet, and Solas flinched. He’d prepared for this moment; he’d been the one to lead her on this winding chase, after all. He wondered what she thought of the shattered remains of his domain.  
  
“Solas,” she breathed.  
  
The anchor flared, its power, _his_ power, lashing out in yet another desperate attempt to return to him. Denying its pull was increasingly difficult. It begged him to turn, to set his eyes upon it, place his hands to her skin and draw it from her, finally bringing them both some sort of peace. But he held fast. Looking at her again for the first time in two years would be no easy task.  
  
Her cry of pain tugged at him as mercilessly as any leash on a dog. He waved one hand, though the gesture was unnecessary, and quelled the energy. At least, for the moment.  
  
“That should give us more time,” he said. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “I suspect you have questions.” He knew the Inquisitor, if she hadn’t figured it out already then the anchor’s flares were painful indeed.  
  
“The Qunari answered some of those questions. The information found while traveling through the eluvians answered more.” She paused.  
  
Solas steeled himself for what would come next. Her anger at all his lies and half truths, the hurt that he hadn’t trusted her with his true identity, and the fear the Dalish had bred into her at the merest mention of his name. What he hadn’t expected was awe.  
  
“You’re Fen’Harel,” she said. “You’re the Dread Wolf.”  
  
Warmth blossomed in his chest and a small, fragile smile curled his lips. It was a familiar sensation, but one he’d so rarely felt for others. And yet, she always managed to make him proud.   
  
“Well done.” He chanced a glance at her, and his chest tightened. She was as lovely as ever, her dark hair freshly shorn for the Exalted Council. Her green eyes were were bright and wide as they darted over his face, as if searching for some sign that he was still there, still Solas. Still hers. If she only knew.  
  
“I was Solas first,” he continued. “’Fen’Harel’ came later… an insult I took as a badge of pride.” He did many things in the name of his cursed pride. “The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies.” He smirked. “Not unlike Inquisitor, I suppose.” She never had liked her titles, yet another thing they had in common.  
  
“And now you know,” he murmured. His gut roiled with fear and guilt. “What is the old Dalish curse? ‘May the Dread Wolf take you?’”  
  
She shook her head, taking a single step toward him. “Our legends about you are wrong. I saw the truth as we traveled through the Crossroads.”  
  
The hope in her voice was a lance to his heart. He shook his head. “You saw another story, written in desperation to give me more credit than I ever deserved.”  
  
Another step closer. “If you had just told me…”  
  
He didn’t deserve her either. Pain flashed across his face, potent enough that he couldn’t quite contain it. “Then you would carry the same burden I do.”  
  
“I want to,” she said, taking two more steps in his direction. “Ma ghilan, vhenan.”  
  
His ears twitched as her heightened breathing reached them. Too close. He turned his face from her and stepped away from the eluvian to gaze across the Crossroads. She followed, as he expected, but kept a respectable distance between them. His vhenan was nothing if not thoughtful.  
  
He told her of the Evanuris, of those who considered themselves gods, and his efforts to free the Elvhen. He spoke of the price of that freedom and his responsibility to set things right. She asked her questions, measured and thorough, until he knew he could no longer avoid sharing the consequences of his path from her.  
  
“I will save the Elvhen, even if it means this world must die.”  
  
And now she knew, the extent of his commitment to the People was laid bare before her. She would finally see him as the monster all of Thedas would most certainly brand him. He watched her, would commit the look of dawning comprehension and revulsion to his memories, so that her disapproval would follow him for the rest of days. _That_ he deserved.  
  
It never came.  
  
“Let me help you, Solas.”  
  
He closed his eyes against her words, as if that could protect him from her kindness, or her determination. He knew his vhenan; if she thought there was even a small chance he could be redeemed she would not stop until she succeeded. Or died trying.  
  
“I cannot do that to you, vhenan.” His voice was quiet, so fragile against the force of her will. How easy it would be to give in, to include her and let her chase away the loneliness of the past years. But, he deserved that too.  
  
“But you would do it to yourself?” Her voice was sharp, finally angry. “I cannot bear to think of you alone.”  
  
Ah. So she _had_ read his tombstone in the Nightmare’s realm of the Fade. She knew his greatest fear, and even now, after he’d confessed his ambitions, she sought to save him from it. But, he’d come to terms with his fate long ago; this was one endeavor she was doomed to fail.  
  
“I walk the Din’anshiral.” He looked away from her, from the pain those woulds would cause. “There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.”  
  
He sensed her mind churning, desperately seeking a solution, hunting for the words that might change his mind, but this was dangerous territory. He could not tell his vhenan too much or she might unravel all his plans. In all of Thedas, he was convinced she was the only one who stood a chance of stopping him, but that would come at great personal cost for them both. He could not allow that. Yet again, her cleverness both impressed and irritated him.  
  
He changed the subject to the Qunari, an involved and distracting enough topic, and she asked more of her questions. He treated her with patience, as he’d always done, and gave her the truths he’d promised years ago in that glen in Crestwood. She deserved that much, and more, but this was what he could give.  
  
“There’s still the matter of the anchor,” she said, raising her left hand to stare at it. “It’s getting worse.”  
  
He grimaced. “I know, vhenan.” The energy of his mark had built steadily as they spoke, and now it roiled against his senses once more. It had progressed much farther than he’d thought. He stuffed his emotions down, the guilt and pain of their conversation shoved behind the mask of the Dread Wolf, and turned to face her. “And we are running out of time.”  
  
The anchor flared to life again, the dazzling green light crackling with raw power. He watched as she slowly dropped to her knees, gasping in pain. She struggled against it, tried to keep her composure, to maintain some sort of control over the burning chaos of her left hand, but they both knew it was futile.  
  
“The mark will eventually kill you,” he said, crouching before her. The soft, detached quality of his voice amazed him. It sounded outside himself, some stoic man narrating events, not a man watching his love writhe in pain. Pain that he had caused, no less. “Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you… at least for now.”  
  
She stared at her hand for a moment, pain and fear battling for dominance on her pale, freckled face. But, when her eyes met his, there was nothing but stubborn determination in them. “Solas, var lath vir suledin,” she growled through the pain.  
  
He looked down at the ground between them, so little space, and yet an ocean of time and worlds kept him from her. “I wish it could, vhenan.” And it was true. He wished it almost as much as he wished to restore the People to their rightful glory. Almost…  
  
She cried out again, louder this time as the anchor flared. The light consumed most of her forearm now, and if he didn’t act soon it would only spread until it claimed her life. He would not let that happen.  
  
“My love,” he murmured. Suddenly the space between them was gone, and he held her right hand in his as his other reached up to cradle her face. He cursed his gauntlets for denying him the feel of her soft skin, and her the comfort of his touch. Her grip on his hand shook with its force, and her left arm clung to his bicep. She shook, the power of the mark threatening to overwhelm her. He was out of time.  
  
Magic was so much easier for him now. There was no force of will, no concerted effort to dip into his mana and draw on the anchor. It was a simple thing, like tucking a strand of hair behind his lover’s ear, natural, right, and breath-taking. His eyes flashed with power, and he bent his face down to kiss her. He told himself it was to distract her from the siphoning sensation she might feel as he pulled more of the mark back into himself, not because he desperately missed her lips, nor for some sentimental farewell.  
  
He was a good liar, but even he wasn’t that good.  
  
She returned the kiss, and though it started feverishly enough, she understood his intentions, and soon her lips lingered against his as they savored one another for the last time.  
  
He pulled back from her as he absorbed the last of the anchor that he could. He would never be able to take it all; it was a part of her now, just as surely as it once was his. It would continue to plague her, would still kill her, but he trusted Dorian and Vivienne to figure out that much. They would have to amputate if they hoped to save their Inquisitor. That thought brought a fresh wave of guilt and he winced against it.  
  
“I will never forget you,” he said. He watched her for a moment more, memorizing the flush of her skin after their kiss, the flash of her green eyes as she realized this was really goodbye, and the glimmer of determination that lingered in them, even still. And then he did the hardest thing he’d had to do ever since he’d created the veil.  
  
He turned away from her and walked to the eluvian, leaving his heart behind, wounded and alone. Yet another decision for which he would always hate himself.  
  
And one that might come back to haunt him.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello all! This was my first time writing Solavellan, though they are my OTP. I woke up with the opening line of this oneshot in my head, and had to write it down. I hope you all liked my interpretation of the Trespasser DLC!


End file.
